Life Passes By
by casus17
Summary: Futurefic. 'The next time I see them, it's the last time I see them. The next time I see them, it's really them, it's more him.' Character Death. Sorry.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, I just like playing.

**Author's Note:** So, this is just a little fic wrote not an hour ago. It refused to stay in my head any longer. It's inspired by these two old men who come into my work. They're in about their sixties, or seventies (I suck at guessing ages), and they remind me so much of Dean and Sam that it got me thinking. Oh, and ESP is a thing we have at my work, it's an Australian thing only (as far as I'm aware), that I thought would be an amusing question when asked to Dean and Sam. Um, it's a future fic, but Dean and Sam aren't as old as the two men who come into work. And it's not too out-there. Except that it's told by an outsider's point of view, not by Dean or Sam, and it's in first-person. Hope you like it!

**Warning:** Character Death. But as far as swearing goes, it's pretty mellow

* * *

**Life Passes By**

The first time I see them, I'm working at the supermarket. The first time I see them, I wish I wasn't working, and I wish I were in something a lot more flattering. They're both in their forties, easily, but they seem so much younger. Even with the long, thin scar on the tall one's face, and the hobbling gait of the shorter one, there is no way they are not so much younger. Not in spirit, anyway.

I smile as they both approach, shopping basket in hand. I would have smiled, even if I hadn't been told to. They're both so handsome, and as a single mother, recently divorced, it's not that easy to ignore.

"Hi, how are you today?" I ask, willing my throat to work. The shorter one smiles, his eyes mischievous and suggesting so much more than his simple grin.

The taller one rolls his eyes where he thinks I can't see. Yeah, it is hard looking up that distance, but with the counter between us, I can see it. The smile never falters. I think they could both be naked and it wouldn't falter.

Now why did I have to go picturing them naked?

"Did you have ESP?" I ask, following regulation. That's when I get my first inkling that they're not exactly locals.

They both pause, going so tense I think I could push them in the chest and they would fall flat, like a tree tumbling to the ground. The taller one's eyes are suddenly calculating, almost cold. They both seem like they're waiting for me to announce myself a monster or something.

"Excuse me?" the older asks, his voice steady.

"ESP," I repeat, suddenly nervous in a way that has nothing to do with looks. Well it does, but it's not because they're sexy. That glint in each of their eyes… I almost shiver. "Extra Shopping Power? It's like a little tag you can get, it collects points…" The tension leaves so quickly I almost think I imagined it. I smile, trying to cover both for them and for my own unexplainable… was that fear? "You're not locals, are you?"

The shorter one smiles. "Just moved here," he answers. God that smile, that suggestive grin, it makes my knees weak. I turn to the other one, maybe he'll be easier to look at without picturing…

Thank God I got my blushes out of me long ago.

"Really? Where from?" I ask, still scanning away their items. I don't ever realize I'm missing half of them.

"Texas," the younger one answers, and I have to look at what I'm doing now. Where had he pulled those dimples from?

It's then I realize I've run out of items to scan. And that I'd done so some time ago. Oh sweet Jesus, I _can_ still blush. Quickly I press a few buttons on the screen, tell them the price and then watch them go with a sigh that is half relieved, half disappointed. I can hear some of their conversation as they walk off.

"I still have it, Sammy-boy," the shorter states with a chuckle. The taller laughs with him.

"I didn't know grown women _could_ blush," he says. "Her face was bright red."

"And she missed like half of the things we…"

Indignant now, I turn back to the waiting line, still furiously red. And wondering if they'll come in again. God, when's my break?

* * *

The second time I see them, I'm not sure what happened. It's dawn, and my kids are with their father for the weekend, and I'm out walking the dog. Yes, at dawn.

The dog's tugging on the leash, excited, or frightened, or… well, whatever it is that has the lab in a mood, he's growling, and barking, and trying to attack an abandoned two story building that is really only just sitting there harmlessly. So far as I'm aware anyway.

"Buddy!" I finally shout, pulling, or trying to pull, the dog back. It only succeeds in _me_ being pulled off my feet and landing face first in the wet grass. The leash slips from my grasp and Buddy leaps for the house, brave in his canine stupidity.

Groaning, I push myself to my knees, well aware that my clothes are muddy. I don't really care. I just want the stupid mutt back so I can go home and…

Oh, of all the perfect timing in the world.

I swear my face falls as the dog appears in front of me, licking me to make sure I'm all right. The only thing is, I'm so consumed by the amused dimples in front of me that I barely even notice that they _are_ amused, let alone the dog. No, instead I get to my feet, brushing away the mud with now muddy hands (which only spreads the mud further, but I don't notice until I get home) and stammer my thanks at the nice (so incredibly nice) man for catching my God. My dog. Oh shit, now he thinks I'm an idiot.

He grins sheepishly, ducking his head (I never realize it's to hide his laughs) before looking up and handing the leash over. I take it from him, smiling, a little in control of myself now.

A little meaning I'm not blushing, but my knees are still incredibly weak.

"I'm Sam, by the way," he introduces. I smile, but can't help but be pulled in by those incredible dimples.

"Excuse me?" he asks, leaning in. It's only then that I realize I've said it out loud. As in, said 'incredible dimples' out loud. The red shoots up from my neck, and I have to go immediately. I only look back once, seeing that there's two of them now. The shorter one's doubled over in hysterics, until the taller, obviously annoyed at something, pushes him over. With his injured leg, the older flails and falls, landing ass first in the mud.

Oh crap, there I go thinking about his ass.

But it means I never realize that they both came from inside that abandoned double-story house. Or that the shorter, older one carried a sawed-off shotgun.

* * *

The next time I see them, I haven't seen them around town for almost two weeks. The next time I see them, I walk away proud of myself. This time I don't make a fool of myself.

I'm in the library, waiting for my eldest to grab enough books on orang-utans to do some research project. I smile at her, wondering how I ended up with two awesome children.

I myself am walking along the back wall when suddenly I bump into something solid and sharp. The sharp things go everywhere when the solid thing drops them, and we both fall. The solid thing is found to be not so solid when he gives a grunt beneath me.

Mortified, I roll away, careful not to knock over any stands that happen to be in the way. I don't get the chance to get to my feet, at least not by myself. A hand is suddenly in my vision, and I take it, noticing the roughness underneath my palm.

"I thought you were falling for me," a low voice jokes.

And that's when I realize the person I fell over was the shorter man from work. At least I don't go red this time.

No, this time I manage to smile, and decide that I can't decide which man is worse to look at. Dimples or the one before me. They both make you feel like throwing yourself into their arms.

"I do seem to be bumping into you a lot, don't I?" I reply, bending to pick up the books he dropped. That's when I frown.

"These are some odd books," I tell him. Books on local history, on myths and… "Demons?" I ask.

He seems to stumble, though it's in no physical way. "Yeah, me and my brother, we're writing a book."

"Really?" I ask, and this time it's not just a way to make the conversation work likes.

"Mmhm," he responds. "By the way, I'm Dean." He offers his hand.

"Lizzie," I introduce, taking the limb. That roughness is still there, but I find myself liking it. Wanting to know the story behind it. It's only years later, when I've put everything together, that I realize those calluses were not from any pen.

But I can't put anything together at that moment. I'm too busy watching his eyes. Until there's a tug on my elbow and I realize I'm still holding Dean's hand. And ignoring my daughter, who's got a pile of books in her arms. None of them on demons, thankfully.

"This is my daughter, Claire," I say, putting my arms around my little girl. Well, not so little now, as I notice her tense under Dean's powerful gaze, and struggle not to become queasy. I have to remind myself that she is sixteen.

"Hey Claire," he greets before turning back to me. "You already met my brother, Sam. The guy with the 'incredible dimples'." He gestures towards a table where the younger drops his head quickly, determined not to be caught looking.

To my later surprise I manage to duck my head coyly. "Yeah, tell him sorry about that. Well, it was nice to meet you Dean," I smile at him, gently guiding Claire away.

And ignoring her whispered, "Tap in, Mum."

* * *

The next time I see them I haven't seen them in almost a month. The next time I see them, I don't really see them. My only glimpse of them is as I run through the doors to the emergency department, tears running down my face, heart beating with anxiety. I only glimpse them, but I don't notice them, even when they stand up. I don't notice the blood, or the wince or the bruises. I don't because I don't care about them, or their looks, or anything, except that finally, finally, someone found my daughter.

Within minutes I'm seizing Claire in a tight hug, sobbing with relief that she's alive. Bruised, and scared, and sitting in a hospital bed, but alive. I thank every God I can think of that she's alive. I don't know that I should really be thanking them.

An eternal grip later, I release Claire, thumbing back her tears, and her mussed, bloody hair, asking over and over again if she's okay, never even letting her answer beyond a nod.

It's then that the two policemen come in, pushing aside the curtains, a little uncomfortable at interrupting the reunion. I don't let go of Claire as I turn to face them.

"Thank you," I tell them, assuming they were the ones to finally find Claire two days after someone took her. But then they shared a look and I begin thinking that maybe they weren't the ones. They confirm it.

"It's not us you should be thanking, Ms Ellis. Two men found her while hiking. Her and the men who took your daughter. I haven't got the full story yet, but the men you should be thanking are out in the emergency room."

Only when I get there, they're gone, and I don't even realize it was them. The nurses are in a fit over the two 'handsome' men who found the Ellis girl, fought to bring her out, and then walked out of the hospital bleeding and injured. But no one knows who they are and no one will ever know.

* * *

The next time I see them, it's the last time I see them. The next time I see them, it's not really them, it's more him. And he is walking the street, or stumbling really. His face is muddy. His eyes are red, the tears making the only clear tracks on the face that will never be handsome again. It will never be sad, or happy, or blissful, because beneath that mud, the life has gone. The face will never shine with the clarity of his soul again. Because the road to that clarity lies in his arms, as still as death, long arm flung out, head lolling.

It's the middle of the morning, and I'm having coffee with a few friends. It's been months since Claire was found, and I've seen them around town, the shorter with his limp more pronounced. But I haven't spoken to them, and I will never speak to them again.

And then I see him, and it seems wrong, seeing him without the taller height of his brother beside him. He's walking, stumbling, and people are keeping well clear, scared by the blood soaking his clothes and his bare arms. He limps something shocking, but I don't think he even notices. He seems half gone. The figure in his arms doesn't move.

On impulse I stand, one hand to my mouth, stunned into the stillness of the moment. It's like the whole world has gone silent, with everyone and everything focused in on that one man who now seems half a man, carrying a blood soaked little brother.

It's then that he falls, drops to his knees, and I only know that I've moved when I'm suddenly standing close to him. He doesn't drop what he bears, and now, finally, I can recognise that deathly figure. My throat hitches in a sob as I drop to my knees before them both. I reach out to touch Sam.

My hand gets slapped away. I look up, straight into Dean's eyes. Only Dean's not there anymore. He's been replaced by pain, and loss, all covered by the glaze of death hurtling at him.

Not that I know that.

"Dean," I breathe, but he either doesn't hear, or doesn't understand. He leans down and kisses the forehead of his brother.

"Easy there Sammy," he says as he lays the body of his brother down on the pavement. He thumbs away a track of blood, and I look over the tall man lying so still, so dead, but I can't spot a wound, just so much blood. In the distance, for that eerie quiet is still consuming the world, I can hear someone vomiting. But everyone else seems focused in on the two men on the ground.

"See, Sammy," Dean tells his brother. "Told you we'd get it. We got it baby brother. We can rest now. We can rest. Finally."

Sighing with something that sounds so much like finality made audio, sounds like relief, Dean grabs his brother's hand, and shifts his legs until he's not on his knees, but sitting, as if, for the first time ever, he doesn't have to worry about a possible attack. My hand jumps for my mouth again as I see Dean, for the first time, losing touch with the world.

For a fleeting moment I wonder if someone's called an ambulance, but Dean moves again, shifting until he's lying by his brother's side. He sighs once more…

And embraces death.

I find myself crying, weeping silently. I know I'm not the only one. Around me people loose strength, fall to their knees, horrified, wondering what happened. Why, how these two blood-soaked men came to be so.

Wondering how their life was as it passed by their dying sight.

* * *

So, what did you think? Thanks for reading!


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